Pain Is The Poison
by Ran196242
Summary: Having enough with the life of a hero, the Dragonborn hid himself from the attention of people and went hiding to find himself a peaceful life. He still kept his secret hobby of researching on poisons, and surprisingly, the one who he could share his knowledge and enjoyment was not even an alchemist…
1. Chapter 1

Pain Is The Poison

written by Ran_196242

Hello, everyone. This is my first fanfic for Skyrim. The story revolves many elements inside the game, but mainly about the Companions and my OC Dragonborn, named Fane Friduwulf (he's a Bosmer btw).

My story has the inclusion of the great Ciderhouse mod by katixas. I dunno why but my character was just so happy cooking and working there, I told myself the place would be a perfect place to build up some of the character's personalities.

I am NOT supposed to write this near my deadline for my graduation project at all… but I couldn't resist, so boom! If you want to see how does Fane look like in my own concept and in the game, feel free to tell me so I would reveal him in my profile stuff.

Not sure if this would turn out to be slash or not =_= it's 4 in the morning and my brain has ceased to function. I'll update the full details later when I have spare time. But in the mean time, please enjoy what you'll find below, further edits will be made after I'm done with all school projects. :3

Constructive feedbacks are strongly needed. :D I have been writing for 5 years in both languages I know, (Vietnamese and English), but my writing skills still requires a lot of experiences. For those who doesn't like what they see, please leave for no further annoyance. It is rude to bash people's creations, for they have spent real efforts to write, and the point of writing fanfics was to satisfy the author initially.

Chapter I:

Vilkas knew it was normal for many travelers to come to Whiterun, at times as dark as the thickest ink in the bottom of its container like this. The Civil War had seem to end, but the reaching hands of the power-lusting Thalmor still crept under the control of the Empire.

At least those who wandered to this city didn't come in noisy, uncontrollable groups with their panicked eyes darting from place to place anymore, unlike the time when the World Eater's appearance destroyed Helgen completely. And its sole purpose was just to find the Dragonborn.

It had been five years since he first heard about the name among the guards of Dragonsreach, and the one bear the name had gained some major reputation all across Skyrim for his dragon-slaying and his role battling for the Imperials' victory in the War, though never once had he seen the face of the hero.

It was almost ironic for someone that had lived in Whiterun all his life was unable to encounter the infamous warrior when he was staying in the city, and he didn't care much about that either. Vilkas just thought simply that fate just don't let them two to meet, or their time to know each other had not yet to come.

The member of the Companions was just thinking idly like that when he saw from the steps of the Bannered Mare, the gate was opening to greet a small shadow entering slowly into the street. The faint light from one of the guard's torch was lifting up the silhouettes of the person, no, not man, but mer, wearing a thick cloak that could have been protecting him from the earlier rain a few hours ago.

"Hey Vilkas, retiring yourself from the mug so early? "

" Just needed some air after all that ale snuffed all my senses, Aela. But I'm planning to head back to Jorvaskr soon enough."

The Huntress wasn't quite sure if Vilkas was drunk like he said or not, but she wished he wouldn't leave the party so early, it was about time Torvar hold his drinking abilities against Farkas. It had been a good while since they could relax, her final words she told him before getting back with the cheery atmosphere inside.

When Vilkas was finally alone again, he didn't realize that the stranger he was watching from afar had come closer, and was walking toward the inn's door. He just stood there and tried to divert his eyes another way, but some strange curiosity made it hard for him not to look.

He never liked elves, and though the hatred didn't root from the Thalmor like of many others, he just felt unfamiliar with those pointy ears, their magic and spells, not to mention the disturbing lack of the whites in their eyes. He didn't deny how the mysteries of their lands and cultures fascinated him, for he had this desire to gain knowledge more than just how to swing a sword at the enemy. He never knew any Elf personally to help him with his small research, except Athis and his vague memories of the eruption in Morrowind, but then, the books were all of his resources.

"Excuse me."

Another deep trail of thought and it made Vilkas lost his awareness of the surrounding the second time. The traveler was already standing in front of him, down at the very first steps up to the Bannered Mare, where Vilkas has unintentionally became an obstacle.

"Can I get inside? "

He didn't reply but moved away for the elf to walk up the stairs and enter the crowded place. He was too busy catching a fleeting image of pointed ears, some blond hair uncovered by the hood, the purple henna on his forehead and a pair of very weary, sad eyes. For the first time too, he was curious. He didn't know the elves were capable of having such emotions in that pitch dark orbs, and despite not knowing if the elf was looking back at him, the final whisper from his mouth bid Vilkas words of gratitude.

"Thank you."

The voice soft and sounded sincere. There was some difference in the scent that traveler emitted too: sweat, blood and steel cloaking the faint but lingering smell of a forest after the rain, that earthy smell Vilkas grew fond of whenever he was on a hunting trip. No sign otherwise told him the elf was a magic user.

But that doesn't matter to Vilkas. He cleared his mind of the images of the foreigner and took a walk back to Jorvaskr.

The next morning rose the Companion up from his desk, since lycanthropy did not allow any member within the Circle the right to sleep. He was looking back at the small specimens of poisons he had gathered from his battles, and while trying to jostle down what he remembered about the symptoms of an infected victim could show, it was already time for breakfast.

Strangely, he noticed while walking through the halls to check up if the whelps were still sleeping, but their chambers were empty, and they were all at the mead hall, along with the Circle, and their Harbinger, Kodlak.

"It was true, Harbinger. We were all there, save my brother. Once the stranger came across Mikael, he suddenly started to sing that song about the Dragonborn."

Farkas was simply telling what he saw. He might had been drunk last time due to the competition last night, but the others were present too, and their statements were connecting to each other, like how familiar Ysolda was treating the traveler, and how everyone was eyeing him continuously, leading to conclusion that the Elf who entered the Bannered Mare was indeed the hero people had spoken of.

Vilkas was standing midway of the staircase, his suspicion grew. The Dragonborn? An Elf? The one that was capable of inhuman acts and the Voice of the Tongues? It sounded almost like a joke, but he couldn't bring himself to laugh at that irony.

"Vilkas, dear, can you move for this old me to clean the stairs?"

He was so deep in thoughts that he forgot he was blocking Tilma, and that embarrassed him a bit. It was the third time he let his mind wandered off, just because he was thinking about that stupid elf in town. With his minds distracted so badly like this, the nickname "icebrain" that his brother was labeled by others in the Circle could change the bearer to him.

Vilkas ate his breakfast in silence, while the others were talking enthusiastically about the new face in town. Njada Stonearm was much unconvinced by the rumors, she left early to find the source of them to ask him directly, bringing her axe along for no reason. Kodlak was attentively listening to all, simply smiling at the usual atmosphere that occurs in the mead hall when there was enough food, mead and ongoing stories.

Farkas saw the weird look in his twin's eyes, so he turned his concern to his older brother.

"Is something bothering you brother? Anything I can help?"

Vilkas shook his head, his free hand patting Farkas's back, while stating that he was okay. He had a close look at that traveller already. His frame too small and lean, his voice too soft, and those eyes were not hard enough to those of a warrior. And all this time he thought that the hero was supposed to be a man who stands tall and proud, with masculine features, whose voice would quake the ground as he speaks. What he felt was simply disappointment, if the hot-headed Nord woman would return and bitterly confirmed that the elf was indeed the mighty Dragonborn.

"Damn that milk-drinker Mikael. He tricked us into believing that some damn cider brewer was our hero! Lucky him I only broke his LUTE in half, not his bones."

Then Njada came back in, almost crashing the door with anger with the truth she had discovered. The small talks rose again even after breakfast, upon hearing that it was just some trick that bard made up to gain himself some beatings out of everyone fell for it, he sighed in relief, that the traveller was just another mortal being.

Many people in Whiterun knew about the Elf and his Ciderhouse near the two farms on the outskirts of the city. He had been running the place for three years, hiring a manager and some helpers to watch over it when he was absent. He made good cider, so anybody who were his clients knows his face, and how they loved him for negotiable prices and fair trading. He also was a frequent adventurer, searching for new additional seasonings and good brewing techniques. Fane Friduwulf was his name.

As the matter of fact, the man could use assistance from somebody that knows a bit of potion mixing. His research had gone into a dead end, with his inability to identify whatever was used to coat the arrow he collected from the dead merchant inside that Dwemer ruins. Vilkas couldn't venture any further into the place, since he lacked the key, and the discovery, though glorious at first, had now hastened him so greatly.

By noon, he made his way to Arcadia's Cauldron. Things could go slow after clearing off that bandit den some days ago, before someone send their words of need to them again. It was the perfect time for him to try his fullest to crack the mystery and put a written label on the bottle.

With a sack carrying many empty bottles, a few with unidentified filled ones, he was hoping the alchemist would give him some light on the process of knowing them. The shop wasn't a big one, and the supply came quite abruptly due to the weathers and all the mishaps could the bandits, giants and wild beast bring to the carriage wagon. But Arcadia was helpful, and her shop couldn't do any better for the man.

"That explains your tired look, friend. That long of a search for such a cause..."

"I just don't know how long it could take... But it's a relief to hear something from you. The potion could exists..."

Vilkas came across the conversation before knocking at the door of the Cauldron. He wasn't mean to eavesdrop, but his heightened senses of a werewolf was being nosy, and he stood there, still wanted to keep on listening.

The first voice was Arcadia, no doubt. She was showing her deep concern in her Cyrondillic accent. And the second one, which sounded exactly like what he heard yesterday outside the Bannered Mare, was comforting her in a less distressing tone. Vilkas knew it was Fane, but he and his identity didn't quite connect in his mind.

The door suddenly swung opened, and it made Vilkas startled, he couldn't duck the panels in time. It shoved him to the hard ground, the sack hung on his side fell along, made a broken crash on impact.

The slap of the door gave Vilkas quite a blow to his nose. He shot his eyes up to find the Elf at the other side of the door while his hand was rubbing the aching area. In daylight, the elf looked less mysterious, with his cloak removed and the simple clothing he had on his body. He has slightly golden skin, blond hair loose on two shoulders and the eyes were reflecting the light of the shining sun. His apologetic smile was appearing, with a hand reaching out at the man, offering help.

"Are you alright? Though I do find you quite occasionally barring me from the way, mister."

"I am not alright, you clumsy elf. Now get out of my way and go back to brewing your stupid cider."

Vilkas was so unnerved by the smile, and when he found out his precious bottles were then nothing but shattered glass, he spat poison right back at the traveler. He even shoved the helping hand away while managing to stand up on his own feet.

The change was instant on the Bosmer's face. His eyes darkened, ears turning red. He wanted to say something in defense but couldn't quite find the right words. However, he seemed to noticed the leaked sack on the ground next to the Companion, and something went through his mind right after. Through the small gap by the corner of the door, he slipped by Vilkas and took his leave without any lingers.

Vilkas was mad, but maybe he let his angered wolf controlled him for a moment there. He remembered sad, haunting black eyes, and it was wrong to make it reappeared by insulting him so badly due to an unintentional accident. His research was ruined now, he mumbled, but he turned back to see no Fane, but everyone with judging eyes.

He was so tired of his own untamed self already.

"That was very rude, Vilkas. Fane didn't mean to hurt you, or to break your bottles."

Arcadia stood there and had been watching everything happened. She crossed her arms and look at the man, similar to a mother wanting to scold her wronged son of his actions.

" I don't know... He didn't even apologize. And it was the only specimen of that poison I could extract from a broken arrowhead!"

"He isn't the sorts to getting into troubles, I can tell you that." – it was then her voice softened as she retraced her memories. "In my hardest times with this shop, he helped me looking for ingredients, and he still does if he have the time. Fane is a good elf, Vilkas. One way or another, he would try to atone."

Arcadia shown Vilkas to her back room, where she keeps her unused supplies of alchemy ingredients. Following the direction of the alchemist's pointing finger, Vilkas could see there are many packs, though small, but many containing herbs and such, were stacking in the room corner. He wouldn't think the woman would lie either. His embarrassment was welling up, making him ashamed of his rudeness.

"And for whatever you need from me today, I won't be helping you unless you both apologize. At least, try to get to know each other. You might as well as becoming poison buddies in a way."

Her joke lit up the dead embers of Vilkas' hope of his research back to a small fire. He figured out that a cider brewer would have some decent alchemy knowledge, saving another fact that the elf himself would go on searching for many seasonings for months just to find a perfect combination with his recipes. He must had known many poisons to avoid mistakenly mixing them into the drink too.

"I will talk to him when I feel it's appropriate."

"The sooner, the better. Fane never stays put in one place for too long. Maybe in a day or two, he would make it to Solstheim already."

Vilkas took note of Arcadia's last words before leaving with the ruined sack wrapped in some thick piece of old cloth she gave him. He took it home to soak it in a bucket of wine to sterilize it, then head his way to the Bannered Mare to buy his first cider bottle.

He just hoped the popularity Fane gained from this drink wasn't because he put some moon sugar in the brew and made everyone consuming the drink turned into addicts. He grew fond of the flavor too, after the third sip, down to the sixth time chugging the second bottle.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"You're right. This is better than the ale we always drink."

Farkas commented on the bottle his older twin brought back to Jorvaskr, while watching the elder replica stayed still in his seat, hand gripping the goblet, eyes gazing deep in thoughts. It must have been the Elf that cause everyone to fuss up, including his brother. Farkas had already saw the Bosmer and the small look didn't impress him that much, but he could see that the elf was not any ordinary Bosmer. There was a certain aura from him that even not with the cursed instincts, he could feel it.

"I shouldn't have yelled at him like that. But you know, Farkas, I'm not good at saying sorries. Especially to people whom I don't know."

"Saw me this afternoon, he panicked and ran like a rabbit. Must had thought that I was you."

Vilkas growled in his palm. Fane was terrified at him then. The need to say sorry was growing large inside him along with the guilt. It wasn't the Bosmer the one at fault, and he did tried to offer help, and he deserved naught of those scornful words. But he was still so confused and ashamed to go and face the elf. He might had needed more time thinking. The impression he bore was bad enough.

"Some fight that Wood Elf could do! I'd wager Athis here would barely consious after that hit."

"Nay, I am stronger than I look! I say the Honningbrews are in deep trouble this time. They dared rousing attacks at their business rival that way, and that was no less than suicide for the whole company. Ah, humans sometimes are foolish… "

"But is he alright? He won the fight, but didn't look unharmed. The thugs were armed like they were going to kill a bear or something."

The not so private conversation of Torvar, Athis and Ria pulled Vilkas up from his heavy seat. He slammed the doors opened to catch the three, much to their surprise, to interogate them about the well-being of their current topic.

"Where is that elf now?"

"He left the inn already, and we saw him no more after that."

"And those troublemakers?"

"Guards have captured and sent them to the dungeons."

Several minutes later, Vilkas was running back and forth to the Temple of Kynareth, only to find the fully occupied healing wing without the Bosmer inside. Then he rushed to Arcadia in hope to find the elf buying healing potions from her, but was only able to inform the alchemist of ill news.

Fane Friduwulf was nowhere to be found in town, and there was only one place remaining Vilkas could think of. So he started running again.

By the time he was wiping the sweat away from his brows, Vilkas was standing in front of the Ciderhouse, its doors shut and windows broken, and the owner of the destroyed building was standing limply between the broken branches of the apple garden, one of his hands was holding on to a bruised fruit.

Fane Friduwulf was beaten up badly, his forehead and cheek swelled, his neck still having fingers marks of a choking attempt. One of his legs was having trouble keeping its master firm on the ground. The sky was dark, but Vilkas's vision could see hollows with dark eyes empty of feelings.

Vilkas finally saw how terrible business rivals could be by observing the situation: the house was destroyed, the fermenting tubes were broken, and the trees that bore the main ingredient for making cider, all were chopped down ruthlessly by some violent swings from an battle axe.

Vilkas swore he felt horrible before such a scene. He wanted to head back to Dragonsreadh dungeon and punish those who were responsible for all of Fane's mishaps, to shred them off into pieces. The inner wolf was reacting eagerly, sure it loved a chance to let off some steam, and though many times trying to hold himself back from the temptation, he had to agree with the blood-lusting self this time.

Fane finally saw Vilkas standing not very far away, strange fire was burning in those sharp silver eyes. As their eyes met, the fire died down and was replaced with something different. It was a mixture of sympathy and concern, something Fane received naught during the fight at the Bannered Mare. But he was clouded by the thoughts of something else, something unsettling that lingered inside his Ciderhouse, so he gave the man no attention when he painstakingly moved to the entrance with the man staring at him.

"You need treatment, elf. These wounds could kill off someone like you easily in a fortnight. Go to the Temple and get bandaged."

Vilkas felt like he was being ignored, so he finally spoke. The elf stopped in his slow, painful track to the door, to turn his head back and stare at the Companion in forced discomfort and defiance.

"… Leave immidieately. I don't need any kind of help… from you…"

Vilkas knew he hated this kind of reply the most from Elves. They always thought they are so superior, even though in times their situations were desperately calling out for help. Fane's face looked so ghostly pale, he was even whiter than the chef outfit he was wearing, his voice small and was out of breath, and the eyes… the horribly haunting eyes had lost their shine, were getting dim and unfocused. He looked like a ailing tree, ready to be broken in half by a gush of strong wind.

His teeth gritted into each other hard, the fire was fiery once again, only with a new anger unreasonably aimed at the elf.

"And I was trying to help you. But great, idiots like you die soon in real battles, and we Nords would have more space to live too!"

Fane ended their brief talk with a snicker on his bleeding lips, and then continued his way walking back to the house, as a mean to declare rejection. Vilkas was so shocked to the point he wanted to chase after and choke the damn traveler. Stuck-up long eared creatures. He cursed silently at the closed door, wondering to himself about what Acardia had said to him about the elf.

"So nice, she says huh… They are all the same, those ungrateful long-eared, creepy-eyed bastards. Next time I see an elf, I would chew his bones and hear some dying whims from those thin lips…"

He was walking back to Whiterun at first with stomps, but the anger died down as the cold breeze of the summer night cooled off his head, but worried him again by bring the faint metallic scent of the elf's blood back to his nostrils.

He had acted wrongly again, despite the unwelcoming attitude from Fane, he couldn't abandon a wounded innocent. He stopped on his track, turned to look at the now smaller sihoullete of the house for a short while before his heels were turned also. He was in need of a way to smooth talk the Elf to come with him to the Temple. He knew he could do it, since he had experience persuading kidnapped victims to trust him before, so he could lead them back to safety.

Persuasion was no longer needed when the air thickened by the scent of fresh blood flowing in it. By the time Vilkas returned, his smelling alarmed him of a mass of blood coming out from the tattered house, belonged to the Elf. He found the inside lock caused no trouble to break in, and was frantic before the unconscious cider brewer lying on the floor, on his own enlarging pool of blood.

Fane Friduwulf was lying face down, and had fell unconsious due to blood loss. Scattered around him were full of broken dishes and splinters of turned tables and chairs, and beside him was a large sword, even too big for his own size, with blood splattered on the deadly edge.

The blood on the blade wasn't Fane's, and Vilkas realized there was another intruder other than him inside the building. He didn't brought his greatsword with him, so he picked the strange, long blade on the ground up for substitution. By the time he gripped it in his hands, and his eyes were able to spot a figure, lurking in the darkness, with a gaping wound leaking out their covers. Exhausted, yes, but the attacker showed no fear.

"Come out here you coward! Come face someone who was ready for you!"

The figure dashed out of the darkness like a shadow, quick and deadly with the daggers on two sides. The masked creature only cared for Vilkas's death, so the hits were precisely aimed at his vitals. Vilkas was amazed by the speed, but he was quick to counter all the movements. He gained the upper hand in no time, for the enemy was injured and was getting slowed down by drained strengh, all he needed was a directional slash and his opponent's head already went flying to the floor.

He used the tip of the blade to flip the lifeless body of the enemy for examination. The outfit blended in with darkness and blood, for no doubt the intruder was one of the assassins from the Dark Brotherhood. Vilkas shuddered, and to find a letter mentioning someone's wish for the death of Fane Friduwulf, it was clear that the elf was targeted from the beginning of the fight.

It took him by that time to remember about the elf. He quickly came back to where Fane was lying, and with utmost carefulness, he held the blacked out elf to check on him.

The intense amount of blood pouring out of the smaller body and its smell made Vilkas cringe. There was so much it stained the elf's white shirt into crimson. He fell unconcious with his eyes opened widely in pain. It would be too late to run back and call for help, Vilkas thought, so he began his attempt trying to save the elf's life himself instead.

He ran into the kitchen, ransacked it to find water, luckily to have them full in barrels used to cool the cider. He also found dry and clean cloths inside the cabinets around the place and some towels in the upstairs bedroom, but unluckily, no potions.

After he was done gathering all necessities, Vilkas crouched besides Fane, put a half burnt candle near them, and start ripping off the elf's ruined shirt.

Vilkas was breathless, terrified by what he saw. He didn't even noticed this in daylight, and the elf was covering those under long sleeves and high collar, but at that moment, under the small light emitted from the candle, he couldn't dare to accept the sight bare to his eyes at that moment.

Besides the bruises and small cuts from his recent fight,Fane's body was covered in scars in all types that Vilkas could never have imagined. They were not battle scars, for those lines wasn't something a weapon would leave behind, but they belonged to gruesome tools of many types of torture. They ran up and down his torso, overlapping places with hardened lines. Some even wrapped around his neck and some cut so deep they disfigured the flesh under the skin.

" By the Nines,… "

Vilkas held the candle to looked at the marred Bosmer, not trying to discover more of those horrible marks, but to check if there was any other open wound.

There was no answer other than the leveled fluctuation of Fane's bandaged stomach, and it relieved Vilkas a bit from his worries. He stopped the blood fast enough, then bandaged the wound, and had carried the Bosmer upstairs to let him lie on his bed, and gave himself a duty to watch the wounded one all night, in fear that the assassins would return to finished up the botched mission. The cut was deep, but no organ was damaged, so the elf should be okay if he stayed as still as he could in a few weeks.

The killer never returned, and Vilkas found himself walking idly around the Ciderhouse by the early hours in the morning. He could slowly see the reason behind all the attacks. Fane was becoming a success brewer, and his reputation grew so quick the fame brought him enemies along. But to the extent he even got pursued by the Dark Brotherhood…

The rumor came back to his mind, about the small elf being the hero. It was quite a joke at first, but after what Vilkas had experience in a night, he was doubting about the possibilities.

He was uncorking a bottle of cider he found undamaged when he heard the grunting sounds of an awoken elf.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm back! The internet finally let me post this chapter. As for this one, you may remember something about Vilkas's room, where he has some chaurus eggs in it. This was meant to be an event where he get to have the ingriedients.

p/s : I am a damn cruel writer this time. Forgive me.

* * *

Chapter III :

It was a dreamless slumber, but Fane did found it comforting. He even wondered if the sensation was any similar to death. To have darkness surrounded and be completely secluded from the living, moving world…

Despite that, he opened his eyes to see the familiar ceiling of his bedroom, and the warmth scent of fresh bandages he had kept inside the kitchen cabinet. He touched the wound, and remembered the feeling of his skin under someone's breaths, and there was only one person that appeared to his mind.

"Don't try to get off that bed, elf. You are not recovering over a single night."

Fane heard the Nord's voice approaching the room and finally, the tall, muscular man walked in, his eyes fixed on the damaged area on the Bosmer's body. His tone sarcastic, but he showed real concern, by bringing a bowl of steaming soup to the end table.

"Couldn't find much of what's edible. But you need some energy, so gobble down no matter how it tastes like."

His cooking skills wasn't the best, and the fact adds up to his anxiety when the black orbs stared at the bowl. But the Bosmer turned back and finally spoke something to break the awkward silence.

"A breakfast on bed. I've never gotten so spoiled."

"You're not expecting for another occasion like this, are you?"

The Bosmer's chuckle fast turned into a light-hearted laugh, and it sounded like bells ringing before it turned into groaning of pain. Vilkas' smile was brief, but he liked what he got to hear.

"Careful, the cut was deep, it might obstruct you even from a good laugh like earlier."

The Bosmer was smiling still, his hand receiving the warm bowl, showing gratitude by eagerly having the first sip. By the look of it, Vilkas had no longer harbor anger towards the elf, since he knew what kind of a person… elf Fane was. But the overlapping rows of scars on the elf's lean body still unnerved him. It didn't look good in anyone's eyes, the shapes of those scars represented nothing of honor, only disgust and inflict an uneasy bulge in the throat. And to exist on someone like Fane, it was… not right for him.

Even a criminal would have not be tortured so cruelly, and if he was captured by the Thalmor, it would have been certain death. He watched the elf eating the soup quite greedily, like it had been days since he last ate, and wonder what kind of trouble he would get into to resulted in this mess.

"Do you find me amusing to watch, mister?"

Fane joked around, but he found the man was out of his mood for silly humor. He tried finishing the meal, then before he could open up, they had another hardened silence, for he too was unsure how to begin with telling stories.

" You must be wary in front of suspicious personals like me. Worry not, mister. I am not a thief, or have committed any sort of crime unless it's the crime for making bad jokes."

"Then the scars?"

Vilkas frowned before the darkness returned in the elf's eyes. He let those thoughtless words slipped out so easily. It was unintentional for him to dig into the private parts of somebody's life, so he hung his head low. He would growl at a person in utter discomfort if they asked him about his past… He was putting the shoes he used to be in on the elf's feet – the pair of shoes with sharp thorns of misery inside…

"I apologize. Everyone has their privacy. Heard from people around here that you are good, and that's enough for confirmation."

"I thank you for your trust."

"And forgive me for my unjust anger yesterday, too. For I… well, I shouted at you for no good reason… "

"Oh for the love of Anuriel… It was me that made fault. I should be the one to apologize instead. I also have searched for the replacement. It was right over there… Damn I was going to give you right after I got it, and those just happened like a boulder falling from the sky to my head in the middle of nowhere… "

Fane was widening his eyes, then his crinkles appeared, and though he had been warned about laughing, he let out another burst upon hearing about the accident.

Vilkas was in awe to witness the Bosmer's rapid change of emotions. He guessed that Fane would recover soon enough, because he had never seen anyone talking so much after getting a life-threatening wound to the stomach. Maybe that was how Elves can outlive humans, with their questionable spirits…

It wasn't just surprise that he felt, but the Nord was having his eagerness rising when Fane Friduwulf opened the drawer to take out a vile, having the same dark liquid like the one he broke, only much more than what he had, and handed it to his hands.

" It is poison extract from a Chaurus's egg. Not so hard to make when you have all the ingriedients. May I know if you have been excavanging an ancient Dwemer ruin recently?"

"I was, but I couldn't venture far into its depths… How intriguing… A chaurus? Is it a bird?"

The genuine question just made Fane laughed even harder, to the point he was choking himself and worsen the aching stomach. The imaginative picture of a chaurus flying with butterfly wings was too much for the elf's endurance, though their latter stages did grow wings, while Vilkas stood asking himself what was funny about a bird living in an underground environment.

"It's an insect… a giant, fat insect spitting poison…! But then, poison made from their eggs are potent against mages… I wonder, now. Are you interested alchemy? I can give you a dozen of those eggs if you want to have further experiments on them, and consider it as my apology."

While trying to stop himself from causing more pain, he looked at Vilkas, his eyes friendly and warm, and what he asked was the something Vilkas had wished to hear, a confirmation of Arcadia's joke about their same passion. The black eyes seemed like shining when they saw the replied of the Nord was a definite nod.

"My free time are spent on them mostly… side by side with books. Poison, I collect and research on them for practical uses. An poison coated arrow would always kill faster than just cold sharp steel flying, right?"

" Yes! Yes it is… Oh my, my throat suddenly feel so dry… "

"You talked too much for an average elf. I'll get some water while you rest your mouth. And my name isn't "mister", it's… "

"VILKAS! YOU IN THERE?"

The deafening call cut off their conversation, and that already helped Fane to know his savior's name. Vilkas knew who the caller was, and he told the chuckling elf he needed to see this person too.

"Vilkas. A very impressive name for an impressive man."

Vilkas headed down to the main dining area, where he found his "not-so-little" twin walking around the messy room, calling and looking for him.

"Brother. How did you find me here?"

"Aela told me you would go here to find the brewer. So where's he now?"

"He's up there. Well, but injured, and a little bit thirsty too. You have to meet him, he is a fine one of his kind. Then shortly after shall we bring him to Danica. It's not safe for him staying here, there are people who want him dead."

Farkas nodded after his older twin briefed him about their next tasks, then he started to look at the expressions on his elder twin's face. It was rare for Vilkas to talk about someone so fondly, it caused Farkas's curiosity to rise, but somewhere deep inside he was glad his brother had made friends with the unlikely.

He was waiting for his brother to ask for some water from the Battle-Borns, but he soon heard someone coughing, softly at first, then the sound just got hoarser. It sounded wrong, compared to the state of the Bosmer he heard from Vilkas.

Farkas didn't need to tell Vilkas that he was going upstairs to check on the elf. He walked carefully on the old creaking staircase, fearing an intrusion like Vilkas had warned, but another loud thud echoed though the small room, forcing him to run up and into the small bedroom.

He saw Fane Friduwulf and no one else inside, but the elf's upper half of his body lying on the wooden floor, while his legs was still tangling in the blanket. Some books on the end table were pushed off and fell on his back. He didn't moved at all, while next to him was a pool of vomit.

When Farkas ran to the elf and picked him up, he already had ceased to breathe, and his heart had stopped its beatings.

"VILKAS! TROUBLE! THE ELF IS DEAD!"

The loud cry from his younger brother woke the fear Vilkas had had all night long, making the waterskin he just fetched almost slipped away from his hands.


End file.
